


Fox Trap

by omobot



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Cute, Fluff, M/M, Sylvain Smalls Tinily Down the Stairs, Sylvain is a Fox, magical transformation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-26
Updated: 2020-04-10
Packaged: 2021-02-27 11:33:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,577
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22426366
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/omobot/pseuds/omobot
Summary: Sylvain offends a witch and gets turned into a fox. The first person he runs into is also the person who's gonna help him get out of this mess. (It's Claude.)
Relationships: Sylvain Jose Gautier/Claude von Riegan
Comments: 96
Kudos: 322





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt by @percivore on Twitter!
> 
> Writing this purely for funsies, I don't actually know very much about foxes at all other than what Google/Wikipedia can tell me in my frantic searches... Please forgive!
> 
> Ongoing work but it'll be quite short overall, probably just another chapter or two.

It had seemed a good idea at the time. It does not seem a good idea, now.

After some hours spent in severe disorientation, general panic and the subsequent stages of grief, Sylvain rapidly arrives at the final phase of acceptance. He finally understands and can attest to the following:

1) He's received karmic retribution for his many years of relentless philandering, at the hands of the woman he's just slighted;

2) This woman happens to be a veritable stunner, but also (unfortunately) an incomprehensibly powerful witch; and

3) He's utterly boned.

It's a shame. Sylvain isn't all that enamored with his life as it is, however he isn't prepared to die like _this_.

He paws tentatively at the damp ground, unaccustomed to his very small, very fuzzy body. He carefully clears his throat, producing the tiniest of squeaks. He attempts walking, and immediately trips over his white-tipped tail.

...Nevermind acceptance. This is too wild for _anyone_ to believe. Sylvain Jose of House Gautier, born on the 5th day of the Garland Moon, has been rendered into a fox kit by spite and black magic.

\---

 _Not even a fully-grown fox,_ Sylvain grumbles to himself as he wobbles toward the direction of the monastery. He's figured out something of a shamble, carefully swaying himself forward step by step. It's the dead of night, though the darkness has no bearing on his vision—he's just thankful he can't be seen. 

He'd woken up at the edge of town, a reasonable distance from the main gates for a human with two functional legs. With his pitiful crawl however, he'll be lucky if he makes it back before sunrise. While his pace does gradually quicken as he becomes accustomed to his new appendages, his energy depletes. He's terribly hungry, and a thin whine escapes his throat.

...He can't help but remember the night he'd spent alone on the mountainside, blindly moving on hands and knees toward a distant pinprick of light (fire, civilization, salvation), feeling his way through the cold dark.

This time, it's a punishment he'd rightfully earned, and the difference doesn't escape him. He persists anyway, driven in part by an animal instinct for survival, and in part by human memory.

He shivers, and thinks he has to find Felix. There's no conclusive evidence that the young swordsman would know what to do, much less even recognize Sylvain in his present state, but Sylvain believes in their friendship with an unshakeable determination regardless.

He'll find Felix.

\---

Finally, the gates are in full view. Light encroaches on the horizon, infusing the sky in the soft colors of dawn.

...For someone who had slipped off school grounds so many times in the past, Sylvain never imagined he'd have so much trouble getting back _in_. He slumps onto his belly for a brief rest, though he knows he'll need to keep moving soon again to keep his body heat elevated. He isn't sure when the gates will open, or how he'll manage to sneak inside, however an opportunity presents itself within the hour.

There's a distant rumble of rolling wheels in the distance, the first of the merchants approaching the marketplace to set up their stall. Sylvain eyes the road warily, though his nerves begin to buzz with anticipation. _Hope_ , if he so dares. He doesn't think he has the strength—or coordination—to execute a perfectly-timed leap into the back of the cart, so he decides he'll follow closely behind, and sprint through the gates as soon as it opens.

He begins to move once more.

\---

He moves as quickly as he can, darting past a small number of stationed guards in a small, ruddy streak.

" _You see that?_ " He hears from somewhere behind him. He keeps running, lungs beginning to burn, legs aching as he scampers up the path toward the second, grated gate just outside the marketplace. (Everything is so much farther away, so much _bigger_.)

" _Must be another stray..._ "

The voices fade as Sylvain takes a sharp left before the entrance hall, veering in the direction of the pond. He can smell traces of fish, stomach lurching painfully as he passes stacked crates and barrels. He's damn exhausted, but he's so close... Just past the greenhouse and into the staircase...

He stops to pick at an abandoned crayfish, and decides he'll never again complain about the food in Faerghus. He notices a cat watching him nearby, and it's frickin' massive. An absolute unit. He's literally never seen a cat as big as himself in his life, holy shit. (He swears it must be the same cat he fed the other day—a handsome lad in a black and white tuxedo, with keen yellow eyes.)

Maybe karma isn't entirely after his sorry ass, because while he's certain he's about to get pummeled away from his tragic meal, the feline simply turns and walks off.

\---

He has to keep moving. Most of the students should still be asleep—unless they're his friends, who are probably already at the training grounds. He treads cautiously toward the dormitories, hoping he can slip into his room for a nap. (He's craving familiar shelter more than anything else, this single fundamental desire urging him to stay awake and alert.)

He makes it to the second floor. Of course, his own room is all the way at the end of the hall, as if obliging him to complete a walk of shame every time he enters and leaves it. He's hoping he's strong enough to nudge his door open, or else he'll have to circle around from the outside of the building and attempt a miraculous leap through an open window. A far more dangerous and potentially fatal approach.

He can hear faint voices, and he bristles. He isn't surprised that Edelgard and her shadow are up too at this unholy hour. He can hear Ferdinand bustling ever productively in his quarters.

_Just one more block to go..._

\---

Naturally, his luck dries up right before he reaches his destination. He starts as a door suddenly swings open in front of him, and unthinkingly backtracks, throwing himself into the room he'd just passed, its door cracked open plenty enough for him to clear.

His trajectory is abruptly halted by a small stack (mountain) of books adjacent to the standard-issue writing desk (tall and dark fortress), but even in his daze Sylvain has enough sense to clamber over the obstacle he'd just collided into, huddling behind the makeshift barricade in case anyone outside notices the noise and peeks in.

His small heart hammers in his small chest, pointed ears twitching as he listens for footsteps...

They don't draw any closer, the sound dimming as they pass him by.

_...That was Felix just now, wasn't it. So much for finding him._

Sylvain sighs, though it just comes out as another ridiculous whine. A book he'd displaced earlier topples ontop of him, and he yips pathetically as he's squashed.

"—Well, _well_."

Sylvain freezes, hearing a soft voice from somewhere overhead. In his panic, he hadn't realized he's had company all along. A figure rises from the east (the great plateau of a bed), emerging from behind the distinct peaks of more hardcovers. A pair of nimble feet plant onto the yellow carpet.

A giant hand reaches down to help lift the brick-like burden from Sylvain's back, and the rest of his benefactor crouches down to observe him, his voice quiet, curious and delighted.

"You lost, little guy?"

Sylvain blinks up into the bright green eyes of Claude von Riegan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I ALMOST FORGOT, THANK U BIGDROOL FOR THE BETA i do not die like glenn tonight!!


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sylvain needs to figure out how to communicate with Claude, who is very distracting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Google led me to a fascinating article on rearing fox cubs (it goes without saying please do NOT attempt at home), and virtually none of that information is in here. I'm honestly just writing whatever I please, this is 110% fiction.

On the occasions Claude manages to rise with the sun, he likes to crack his door open and lounge in bed, listening for any chance snippets of gossip in the hallway while he buries his face between his pillow and his book. None of his neighbors ever noticed, or if they did they pointedly ignored it. He never had any visitors (though that held true for any hour of the day).

So when he hears _scurrying_ outside, his interest is piqued, eyes darting over to the doorway. Despite the motley collection of cats and dogs roaming the monastery grounds, none of them ever ventured into the dorms. Claude had considered the possibility of warding spells in place, invisible magic safeguarding the comfort of the second floor residents, comprised of fussy and fussier nobles.

Claude blinks and nearly misses the small animal tumbling into his room. He's not sure what it is, other than very small and very fast, and the sound it makes dispels his first guess. (Not a cat.) While he'd rather allow the creature leave of its own volition, he has too many important books and papers lying around on his floor to risk an extended stay. Already he can hear a small tower of books toppling over, followed by the saddest, most babyish noise that makes his heart bleed a few drops.

He inevitably gets up to greet his home intruder, to discover it's accidentally buried itself under a particularly robust history text.

"Well, _well_. You lost, little guy?"

\---

Sylvain is _not_ lost, so much as taking a forced detour, and he of course has no good way to respond to the question that's posed him. He's mindful of the open door, that his distinctly non-human voice might carry and attract more unwanted attention. That Claude may decide to exercise some wildlife control himself, and that somehow... he has to find a way to communicate to the other ( _only_ ) boy in the room.

Sylvain attempts to shake his head, a twitch of a movement that resembles more a full-bodied shiver. —Actually, he's pretty cold, his current form unable to properly regulate its internal temperature, and he sneezes out a tiny puff of air. (He had always laughed off the evening chill this time of year, _nothing compared to back home_ , but having spent the entire night stewing in it he's feeling the cold sink past his light pelt and into his bones.)

He sneezes again, fixed to his spot by a temporary fit. Apparently he looks so pathetic it's enough to make Claude express pity for him, the open concern on his face the last thing Sylvain sees before his eyes squeeze shut. Sylvain is so busy sneezing that he doesn't notice Claude take off his shirt until he finds himself loosely bundled in the yellow fabric, its residual warmth so absolutely glorious he whines a little.

...It smells nice. The entire room smells like paper and ink, candle wax, and Claude. He picks up the warm scent of aromatic oils, nothing he would've ever noticed on Claude's person, but pronounced now that he's wrapped in it.

Sylvain sneezes again—who knew sneezing could be so _exhausting_. He should stay alert, especially when he has no idea what Claude might do, but his weariness weighs so heavily on him he simply can't fight the terrible need to sleep. He curls in on himself instinctively, snout burrowing into his tail, and the room fades from his consciousness.

\---

_...Oh, it's_ really _too cute._

Claude can't help but fawn a little, watching the small kit doze helplessly in his clothes. He's tempted to pick it up right then and there, but he doesn't want to disturb its rest, or potentially have his handsome face scratched off.

He's much too old to be entertaining the possibility of rearing a wild animal off the streets (child Claude had tried to domesticate, in secret, a handful of strays), nor can his schedule accommodate any added responsibilities. The _proper_ course of action would be to report the fox to the faculty. Let them handle it.

(But it's an unwelcome outsider, just like him.)

...Claude curses himself and carefully shuts his door, bolting it in place. There's still some time before classes begin, and it's not as if anyone would be surprised if he cut first period. He begins mull about a temporary plan of action; from what he's gathered via his childhood adventures, he'll need to keep the creature warm, ensure it's watered and fed, and figure out a way to contain its waste. _And_ keep it from making excessive noise, _and_ from escaping, _and_ also keep it out of sight in a small room that barely contains any furniture.

_You fool, Claude. You absolute buffoon._

He's going to rehabilitate the poor creature and release it back to the wild as soon as possible. 

\---

When Sylvain stirs, much of the day has already gone by, the sun rolled past its peak in the sky and slowly lowering once more into the evening horizon.

He's hungry again but no longer shivering, body warm and relaxed. He first notices he's been carefully relocated to a nest of clean towels beside a bowl of hot water, which he assumes had retained its heat thanks to Claude's clever machinations. It's dark, save for a dull line of light, and he realizes he's been hidden underneath the bed like a sordid novel.

He wriggles free from his burrow and from under the heavy curtain of the duvet, and is immediately greeted by an impressive barricade of books. His caretaker clearly doesn't want him running loose. And his caretaker hasn't gone so far away himself either—Sylvain can smell him in the room, his scent weirdly familiar now for someone he only knows in passing. (Is this what Claude does in his spare time...? Resuscitate small creatures that venture into the dorms?)

He sees another bowl of water nearby, this one presumably for drinking, and he laps up a few mouthfuls before inspecting the obstacle in front of him. Sylvain then attempts to scale the wall of tomes, poorly, bumping into one of the higher books and knocking it down on himself a second time. (Zero for two, _c'mon._ )

His ears twitch as he hears movement nearby, the sound of a chair pushing away from the desk. He at least manages to free himself from under the book he's decked himself with this time, eyeing Claude warily as he draws near.

\---

Claude really isn't sure what to expect of his temporary "roommate", but his charge seems to be in good spirits, no longer trembling from the cold. ...Surprisingly calm too. He would've expected the young fox to dart back under the bed, frightened by his approach, but it doesn't exhibit any skittishness at all. It's as if it were _anticipating_ him.

"You hungry? I found a few things you might like... don't tell the kitchen though, 'kay?"

Claude holds out a handful of dried morfis plums he'd smuggled from the dining hall, placing one a skip away from the kit. To his relief it seems to have no objection to its meal, padding forward to gobble up the morsel. He subsequently leaves a small trail of fruit, watching with delight as the fox tackles one after the other, before finally Claude attempts—against better knowledge—to hand-feed the creature.

The fox stares at him for a good few seconds, undoubtedly sizing him up before it bumps its muzzle against his hand, carefully plucking up the prune from his palm with its teeth. Claude bites his lower lip, willing himself not to make a foolish noise. (Is this the happiest moment in his recent life? Is he so desperate for acceptance from a nameless creature? Perhaps...)

"You're cute enough to kiss," Claude sighs, unthinkingly running his fingertips gently over the baby animal's fuzzy crown before hastily pulling away.

\---

Sylvain almost has to laugh at that, but he's rendered speechless (not that he can verbalize anything anyway) by the irresistible sensation of a good head rub. It feels heavenly, warmth tingling under his skin, and when it abruptly stops he follows Claude's hand by mindless instinct, noggin butting softly against the boy's palm. Claude immediately responds, scritching delicately behind his tapered ears, and Sylvain nearly squeaks, dropping helplessly onto his side as his knees go wobbly. (He hates this. It's the absolute best.)

He hears soft laughter, and he might blush if he could, batting a paw at Claude's hand in an attempt to restore his dignity. Claude takes it as a sign he wants to play, and pokes lightly at his belly, eliciting a small yip in protest.

"Sorry, sorry," Claude says, not sounding sorry at all. "...Alright, I gotta finish up a paper. Stay put, lil' guy."

_Oh no, that won't do at all._

Sylvain doesn't usually sweat the finer details of academia, but _he's_ got exams by the end of the week. An expectant family to answer to. His human body to reclaim. He's already lost a full day to return travel and sleep—surely someone has to have noticed him missing by now? (His dour reputation might afford him a couple days at best, but it's going to devolve into an ugly commotion if the heir of House Gautier winds up missing.)

Claude is supposed to be smart, isn't he? Sylvain knows little else about him, but he's severely limited on options here. He bites into the corner of the boy's jacket sleeve, tugging his arm toward the book lying on the ground (split open when it had dropped on Sylvain earlier) in an attempt to delay his departure. He'd formulated a plan before he'd gotten distracted by sustenance and headpats, and it's time to find out whether or not it'll work.

\---

...Claude, meanwhile, genuinely has no idea what the fox wants. But he's very charmed, and willing to waste another few minutes entertaining his tiny guest rather than expounding on magic theory.

"Yeah? You want me to read you a story?" He's speaking nonsense, but it's sort of refreshing to do so, and he crouches a little closer, humming as he peers over the stack of books he'd set up as a makeshift pen.

—The kit is starting to poke holes into the paper with its claws.

"Oh shit, please don't do that!" He begs, and gets nipped when he tries to interfere.

"Okay, enough now— _agh!_ " Claude yelps, flinching back and nursing his twice-bitten hand against his chest.

The baby fox plants one of its small paws on the page above a single word, holding it there and staring up at Claude until he reads it.

"'Message'...?"

He blinks dumbly. The fox does not blink back, tapping the word again. 'Message.'

"You're... not possibly trying to tell me something?"

The paw shifts to another word: 'Yes.'

...Some five minutes later, from the various holes pricked over various letters, strung together by the bizarrely specific gestures from the fox, Claude manages to decipher the riddle he's been given.

He's staring into the warm brown eyes of Sylvain Jose Gautier.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for sticking around, we are very slowly getting there! 😂 And thank you bigdrool for beta. ❤️


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sylvain and Claude finally have a chat. Claude does the talking.

It doesn't take too long for them to figure out a rudimentary system for communicating, namely Claude asking questions and Sylvain answering 'yes' or 'no' with a thump of his tail to the right or left respectively. For more complex answers, Claude has an entire alphabet written out in large capitals across a few sheets of paper for Sylvain to paw at, more tail thumping utilized in lieu of spaces and punctuation between strings of letters.

And of course, Claude has a field day with this, beginning with verifying Sylvain's identity. He doesn't know _so_ much about the redhead, as the rumors in circulation were largely the same—however he knows enough for starters. Where was he born ( _FAERGHUS_ ), who is his best friend ( _FELIX_ ), what is his favorite subject ( _FLIRTING_ ). 

Sylvain asks a wry question in return, albeit somewhat slowly as he travels around the desk. (At least, his conversation partner has an amazing working memory, able to translate each piecemeal message with impressive speed and accuracy.)

 _COUPLES ICEBREAKER_ (?)

"Yeah. If I'd known this would be our first date, I would've gotten you something nicer for dinner," Claude says with a smile, part teasing and part genuinely sympathetic.

Sylvain blinks at him and taps out, _THANKS ANYWAY_. He wonders what Claude gets out of helping him through all this, though he supposes being able to interact with an adorable, sentient critter holds a distinct novelty.

"So a witch really did this to you?" Claude asks, elbow anchoring onto the desk as he props his chin in his hand. 

Sylvain's tail falls over to the right. ( _Yes._ )

He had managed to summarize his misadventure earlier in record time, with few words as possible, and Claude had easily filled in the blanks on his own. The skirtchaser had skipped class that day and slipped into town in the evening. Gotten friendly with a lady, whom he unfortunately didn't remember, and whom he had apparently jilted in his youth. (Claude notes that Sylvain is only nineteen...) The woman had waited until they were alone together to inflict him with his present curse, and Sylvain had somehow made it back to the monastery afterward.

"Didn't leave you with any sort of idea as to how to remove it, huh?" Claude muses. That would be too easy.

Sylvain's tail swings over to the left. ( _No._ )

"Maybe we should try to get outside help..."

Sylvain's tail lifts, wavers, and thumps back to where it started. ( _ **No.**_ )

Claude sighs, rubbing at his forehead. 

"Look, I dunno how to fix your curse. You're not exactly a frog, and I'm not exactly a princess." He seems quite bemused by his own comment, eyes glinting as he continues. "—But maybe we can trick our lovely Miss Edelgard into giving you a lil' sugar?"

Claude snorts when Sylvain's tail immediately flops over to the right. ( _Hell yeah._ )

"Uh huh. Thought so."

\---

They 'converse' for a bit longer until the baby fox yawns, and Claude yawns too. It's getting late.

"Okay, we'll come up with a better strategy in the morning. One that won't get the both of us strung up by our ankles by Hubert. ...You okay if I pick you up and take you to bed?"

Sylvain starts to spell out something suggestive, to which Claude snickers and immediately scoops him into his arms, depositing him unceremoniously onto his pillow and turning it so that his guest is facing the wall.

"I'm changing. Not that I'm shy, but it'll be weird if you watch. You look like a stuffed animal."

Sylvain supposes that's fair, and he drapes his tail over his eyes, settling in for the night. There's no way he can sleep in his own room when anyone could walk in and whisk him away, and while he and Claude are barely acquaintances, Sylvain finds that he trusts him with surprising ease.

...Or maybe he's just surrendered to the preposterous helplessness of his situation. Sylvain has never been much of a fighter, having learned to sweettalk and maneuver his way out of conflicts from an early age. And yet for some reason he's just as bad as giving up, clinging miserably to his existence. (For what? A childhood promise? A glimmer of hope he no longer sees?)

His father had told him once he was too fond of pointless stories, though he had never barred Sylvain from reading—literacy was the least of the things demanded from him. Sylvain supposes it's the reason he keeps on turning each page of each day. To find some sort of secret between the endless lines. To get to the tired end of a stale script.

(...To meet someone unlike anyone he's met before.)

He hears the rustling of fabric and Claude's footsteps, and smells a waft of smoke as the candles in the room go dark. The mattress beneath him shifts as the young noble climbs into bed. Sylvain takes it as his cue to turn around, and finds himself being watched with bright eyes. Even without the soft moonlight filtering through the windows, he can see Claude clearly, looking pensive.

"Y'know it's been years since I've had a sleepover? I honestly can't remember the last time."

Sylvain swishes his tail idly. ( _I mean, who can fit anywhere with all these books..._ )

Claude looks like he has a thousand questions he wants to ask and even more to say, and that he's holding every word back. He simply watches Sylvain inquisitively, eyes clear but unreadable, though for the faintest of moments Sylvain thinks he senses loneliness. Sylvain wonders if he would've mentioned anything at all were he himself not currently a harmless, fuzzy creature. He doubts it.

It's quiet, and he finds himself almost missing the sound of Claude's voice. It's chilly, too, and Sylvain picks himself up from the pillow after a beat, climbing onto Claude's chest and making himself at home. He feels a warm hand settle over his back, stroking his fur lightly as he drifts off to sleep.

\---

Claude has seriously considered, on multiple occasions by now, whether he's suffering from a highly complex hallucination. It's unlike him to be so thoroughly distracted from his objectives, and yet his attention has been utterly stolen by the last thing—last _person_ he'd ever expected.

It's a riddle he can't resist, and he secretly welcomes the diversion. He's well aware of the limited time he's allotted to glean as much information as he can from the Officers' Academy, but even so this detour feels vital in its own way. As if he _needs_ to rescue a certain fox-boy from an uncertain fate, before he can go on to fix the rest of the broken world.

...Maybe it just feels nice to be needed. He can't even be sure Sylvain doesn't hate him too, when the other has little option but to accept Claude's help.

(Well, he must like him _enough_ if he's camping on top of his ribcage.)

Claude sighs quietly and reclaims his pillow, careful not to disturb the dozing fox as he props it under his neck. He closes his eyes and sleeps.

\---

He has the strangest dream that night. He sees Sylvain, in full human form, asleep and curled up beside him. Claude reaches out instinctively to run his fingertips through his ruddy hair, and the older boy vanishes.

\---

Sylvain wakes first, suddenly alert with the memory that Claude has a paper to finish. The morning light is still faint, and his companion is still out cold underneath him. He wiggles free from under his slack hold to rouse him. (...It's weird seeing Claude's face up close, at this scale. It's enormous, and very pretty, and his eyelashes are obscenely long.)

Anyway.

Sylvain takes the boy's braid between his teeth and tugs. No response. He pushes his paws delicately into his cheek, making biscuits. Silence. He nips Claude's nose—and is abruptly sent rolling backwards with a yip of surprise as the boy sits up without warning.

Claude blinks down blearily at Sylvain, looking wildly confused. Sylvain points a foreleg in the direction of the desk. Claude blinks over, takes a moment to inventory his schedule for the day, and then curses, voice low and raspy.

" _Aww shit._ "

He sets Sylvain down on the floor, though not before he gratefully nuzzles his head and bestows him with a 'thanks.' Sylvain's ears twitch, pulse speeding up again. He does his best to ignore it.

...He needs to use the bathroom.

It takes a couple minutes and a lot of pawing to get that across to Claude, who finally grins with understanding and nods. He doesn't usually step outside of the dorms without putting himself together, but he'd rather deal with a few odd stares than any potential mess an infant might make in his living space.

"Right. First things first."

\---

With Sylvain hidden inside a bundle of fabric, Claude makes his way downstairs and sets his charge free to do his business in the privacy of the bushes across the building. And while Sylvain has always believed himself to be past the point of embarrassment, this whole ordeal has turned out to be mortifying in spades, and only gets worse.

When he finishes relieving himself, he pads onto the grass to discover he's attracted the attention of a small litter of kittens. They're adorable, and also roughly the same size as him. One of them bites his tail, and he startles, whipping around to bark a tiny bark at the offender. Another bumps into his side playfully, knocking him over. The perfect set-up for the first cat to climb on top of him and sprawl over his back.

Claude is watching all of this, soft eyes and devilish smiles and well within helping distance. He chooses not to intervene, naturally, and Sylvain has half a mind to chew up his homework on sight. With much effort, he rolls over to tip the kitten off him. Claude softly calls out commentary, which Sylvain can't entirely hear over the excitable mewling. He has to (gently) box away another cat. There are so, so many of them, and he is persistently surrounded.

He eventually clears a path for himself and scampers to Claude, positioning himself strategically under the boy's legs. Unfortunately, this does absolutely nothing to deter the kittens. Not a single one hesitates to headbutt and paw against Claude's legs, shamelessly demanding pets and treats.

Sylvain hears Claude laugh, _really laugh_ , the sound floating across the empty courtyard, and suddenly he doesn't mind any of this quite as much as he did before. He then feels himself go weightless as he's finally hoisted up from peril.

"Well done, champ." Claude winks at him. "Let's go back inside to write a paper."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more after this! c:


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Claude and Sylvain find a way to reverse the spell, or rather the way to reverse the spell finds them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks so much for following alongside this nonsensical journey...! this was just meant to be something silly and brief and irrelevant to canon (LMFAO) so i was taken aback by the warm reception... much appreciated!! the ending is a very simple one, alas, but it felt right for a simple premise.

For someone with a half-written assignment due in a few hours, Claude is remarkably calm in his proceedings. He takes his time rebraiding his hair and arranging his bedhead so it looks purposefully chaotic. His grooming habits say quite a lot about him, Sylvain thinks as he idles in a warm bowl of water, washing himself clean from his trip to the bushes. Sylvain has a habit of keeping certain company in the evenings while spending the following mornings alone, and he doesn't usually stick around for sunrise rituals—so it's interesting to observe Claude's.

The other boy notices him noticing and joins him with a grin, and Sylvain doesn't know what to make of it. Or of the way Claude runs his hands delicately over his fur after Sylvain signals it's okay for him to assist. The way he gently picks him up and dries him off, wrapping him in a fresh towel as if he were a dainty teacup. And finally, the way he sticks Sylvain under his shirt to keep him warm as he works at his desk, tucking him close enough to his chest that Sylvain can hear the strong rhythm of his heart underneath.

Claude hums offhandedly, focus so honed on his paper he doesn't fully realize he's doing it. It's soothing, and would lull Sylvain to sleep again were he not listening so intently. It's not a melody he recognizes, the tones and progression of notes distinctly unfamiliar. It's captivating either way, and gone as soon as Claude clears his throat.

\---

Claude is not a stranger to silence, nor is he inept with it. However he finds his guard constantly slipping in his present company, feeling too much at ease as if he were alone (with a fox pup). He knows that the more questions he asks, the less are asked of him, but in this context he's at a natural disadvantage—Sylvain can't actually speak, as much as Claude wishes he could, and Claude can't divine what he's possibly thinking under his deceptively precious exterior.

It's actually quite dangerous, letting anyone into his personal space like this. Reckless. Claude tries not to think too much about it, about how foolishly happy he is to have company, and sternly reminds himself that he's just helping out a fellow student...

And that somehow, he has to finish this essay despite the constant distraction that is Sylvain. He bites into the apple he'd swiped from the kitchen earlier in the week and absently holds the unmarred side to his companion, other hand still busy scrawling out letters. The little fox nibbles at it, and when he pauses Claude takes another bite. He continues to pass their breakfast back and forth until only the seeds are left.

\---

Claude gets stuck on a paragraph, which leads them to Sylvain's room to retrieve a book Sylvain had borrowed from the library prior. They're only going so far down the hall, but the house leader keeps the small animal hidden under his yellow half-cloak, carrying him inside the crook of his arm.

Claude is a surprisingly courteous guest, refraining from commenting on anything in the room, though Sylvain sees the way he's eagerly taking in each minute detail. It feels like letting a magpie into a jewelry box, but perhaps that's presuming more interest in Sylvain's personal life than Claude might actually have.

At least, Sylvain hasn't left out too much to extrapolate from. He keeps his room strictly tidy, the only objects out of place a comb and a bottle of fragrance he'd used just before heading into town. He usually leaves such belongings in view until he returns, akin to leaving out a note for Felix, or Ingrid, or Dimitri, or whomever happens to stop by his room wondering where he is. (Sometimes he simply locked his door, depending on his mood.) ...He hopes none of them decide to visit now, or else Claude will have a _very_ difficult time explaining what he's doing snooping around someone else's personal quarters.

Claude sets him down on his desk and Sylvain trots over to the text in question, tapping its cover with a paw. His partner leans over to pick up the designated book, when Sylvain hears two pairs of footsteps approaching. He tugs at Claude's sleeve with his teeth, though Claude has noticed too, the boy's posture turning rigid as the sounds _stop_ right in front of Sylvain's door.

"—He hasn't returned for two nights now. I've asked a handful of students to inquire with the townsfolk," Dimitri's voice filters in from outside. "No one reports to have seen him. While I do not wish to infringe on his privacy, his room may provide us clues as to his whereabouts..." A pause. "He may have his vices, however it's unlike him to go missing before an important mission."

The handle turns, and fortunately Claude had the foresight to lock the door behind him after sneaking in. There's the sound of the metal bar catching, through Claude has already slipped soundlessly under the bed several seconds earlier with Sylvain and book in tow, and meticulously rearranged the duvet so it's concealing all three. He's hidden with such efficiency that Sylvain has to wonder exactly how many times he's done this in the past.

"I can try forcing it..." Dimitri trails off, though it's easy for everyone listening to interpret his silence as his wish not to contribute to any collateral damage.

"I'll ask about a spare key," another voice chimes in—Byleth's.

"Of course. That would be the most prudent course of action. Allow me to speak with the housekeeper," Dimitri volunteers.

The footfalls fade down the hallway, and Claude lets out a sigh of relief in the dark, spending a good few seconds lying bonelessly on the floor.

"Thought it was over for us," he mumbles softly. Sylvain pats his face consolingly with a paw. They shuffle out from under the bed, and Claude moves to the door. 

He finds their professor waiting for them on the other side, silent and stony as ever.

\---

They wait for Byleth to absorb Claude's explanation.

They've been brought to the professor's office, Claude seated with his hands folded in his lap (to make himself appear more well-behaved than his behavior suggests), while Sylvain finds himself front and center on the desk between the two.

"You can communicate with him," Claude says, after a beat, gesturing to the baby fox. Sylvain sits up a little straighter, and lets out what hopefully comes across as an intelligent squeak.

Byleth nods.

"Professor Hanneman's got a machine that can detect crests, right? We could bring him there, prove that it's really him..." Claude wonders if Sylvain still has his crest, actually.

"No need," Byleth says. "I believe you."

"Oh," Claude says.

Byleth appears to be thinking, eyes shifting back and forth from the odd pair to an indeterminate spot on the wall, like he's hosting some sort of internal dialogue within himself. He nods a second time, and Claude and Sylvain aren't sure exactly to whom.

"I may be able to help," the professor says. "But it'll be risky."

"I'm listening, Teach."

Byleth folds his arms over his chest, looking tentatively between his two students. "I can turn back time."

"...Excuse me?" Claude stammers. Sylvain yips in tandem.

\---

They discuss, and Byleth gives them time to think about it—but not too much. With each hour that passes, the window for successfully winding back the clock grows smaller. They have until dawn to come to a decision.

Claude forgets about finishing his essay, clearing his desk instead to set up the alphabet he'd created earlier for Sylvain.

"Whatcha think?" he asks, sighing as he drapes himself over his folded arms.

Sylvain spells out _INSANE_.

"Yeah, I know..."

_LETS DO IT_

Claude blinks at him, and his expression slowly stretches into a soft grin. He reaches out to rub the little fox behind his ears, and Sylvain lets him do as he pleases.

"You're not worried about losing your memories?" Claude asks quietly, removing his hand from Sylvain to drum his fingers lightly over the desk. Sylvain pads over two pieces of paper.

_RU_

"'Ru?'"

 _R_ ... _U_

Claude considers the question for a moment. For how short this strange incident has been, it's still the most time he's spent uninterrupted with anyone else in the monastery. And if he were being honest with himself, he'll sorely miss the companionship. He wonders if it's possible to be friends with Sylvain after this, remembering it was pure accident that had them colliding into each other's lives in the first place.

"A little," he says. He can't bring himself to spill even half his secrets, but as he's already discovered it's distressingly difficult to lie to an infantile creature. Sylvain swishes his tail, and taps out a response.

_SAME_

\---

They turn in for the night, though neither of them manage to sleep. It proves impossible to find a measure of calm when their minds are so frantically attempting to simulate tomorrow's events and beyond. They've both reached the mutual conclusion that the best way to fix the incident is to make it so that it never happened. No need to launch into drawn-out research or potentially dangerous experimentation to get Sylvain back into his human body.

Nobody has to know.

For Sylvain, this ought to be a relief, and for the most part it is. There's no way they can keep up this hide-and-seek, especially considering just how quickly they'd managed to run into their professor... But he can't deny he feels a little wistful. It was sort of fun while it lasted, in a bizarre and humiliating way. He sort of enjoys Claude's company more than he cares to admit.

For all his musing, he still falls asleep first, tiny body unable to keep itself awake for so long.

\---

Claude watches Sylvain for a very long time, pondering. 

Quietly, he leans over to kiss the baby fox lightly over his muzzle, and retreats just as discreetly.

He waits.

....Nothing happens.

 _Of course not,_ he silently chides himself. It had been a foolish notion, and he just isn't the sort to let go of a curiosity no matter how ridiculous. Besides, he hadn't thought so far as to what he'd actually do should Sylvain suddenly sprout to full human size in his bed, and he's way too tired to chase that line of thought now.

...He waits a little bit longer.

...He finally allows himself to drift off.

\---

They return to Byleth's office in the morning, Claude cradling the fox in his arms once more.

It may be somewhat silly to do so, but Sylvain feels as if he ought to say goodbye. There's no way for him to voice it, so he carefully stands on his hind legs, pawing up Claude's chest to tug at his braid. Claude smiles ruefully and rubs the tuft of fur underneath his chin.

Their professor greets them with a nod, and they shut the door behind them.

\---

Time goes backwards.

\---

Claude blinks, startled awake by the soft chatter in the classroom. He hadn't realized he'd drifted off, lulled to sleep by the warm rays of the late afternoon sun. It's the last class of the day for the Deer, and their professor has noted the students' quickly waning interest, wrapping up the lecture a few minutes early.

"—Essay's due at the end of the week. Class dismissed."

...Essay. Right. Magic theory. Claude's gaze swings down to the notes he'd been scrawling before he'd dozed off, and he squints at a particularly incoherent line spilled across the paper in ink. It looks dubiously like:

_**Sylvain** _

He rubs at the back of his neck, wondering what on earth the name is doing in his annotations. He glances up again when he sees a gloved hand tapping softly on the desk.

"Can you do me a favor?" Byleth asks. He looks serious, enough shadow folded along his brow that differentiates his troubled expression from his resting one.

"Anything, Teach," Claude pipes up. Maybe this is discipline for falling asleep during his lecture.

"Please find Sylvain and escort him to my office. He should be in his room."

"Huh?"

"It's urgent," Byleth says, and from the look he's given Claude knows he can't refuse, and that he shouldn't ask questions. "I need you to go."

\---

Claude goes, but not before he drifts by the kitchen to pocket an apple. For someone who thinks as much as he does, he needs a steady supply of sugar to keep his gears turning, and he likes to keep fruit in his room when he has a longer assignment to complete.

Instead of saving the apple for later, he bites into it unthinkingly.

And then he realizes it tastes familiar, not in the way that all apples taste similar, but in that he's pretty sure he's eaten this _same exact_ apple before. He stares at the fruit in his hand for a confused moment.

He continues walking to the courtyard, headed toward the dorms. He sees a stray nearby, and remembers it's recently given birth to a small litter.

...He remembers something else, and starts running.

\---

He's slightly out of breath when he reaches the end of the second floor hallway, heart rattling in his chest for other reasons. Claude forces himself to calm down before approaching Sylvain's room. (Its occupant is likely still there, styling his hair or whatever before he heads out on his date... Surely Claude hasn't missed him. It's not the best time to leave the Academy premises unnoticed anyway, as the foot traffic picks up from students and teachers returning to their quarters after classes. But would Sylvain care enough to wait...?)

...The door is actually wide open, and Claude manages to keep from jumping when he sees the boy inside. Sylvain glances over at him, looking equally surprised to see his visitor, and Claude realizes this is probably the first time they've ever interacted purposefully outside their handful of shared lectures.

_...Does he remember anything?_

"Uh, hi," Claude begins. He still hasn't thought of a way to trick Sylvain from leaving the monastery yet, too busy being overrun by his memories and an enormous wave of relief.

"You lost?" Sylvain asks, looking amused as he sets down his comb. Claude notes the accompanying bottle of fragrance on his desk.

"...Looking for a stray. I thought I saw it run into this room."

Sylvain's brows perk up, and Claude's stomach twists itself into knots for no reason. "Huh. Want me to help you look?"

"If you're not busy," Claude says automatically. 

"How long is it gonna take?" Sylvain asks, sounding vaguely disinterested despite the odd gleam in his eyes that indicates otherwise.

"All night?" Claude offers. He has to stop Sylvain from going into town no matter what, even if it means atrociously flirting with him to do so. The other noble takes a moment to deliberate, before breaking out an easy grin.

"Okay, why not. So what's it look like?" Sylvain leans against his desk, and Claude suddenly realizes he's never seen his human version this up close before, and it's kind of unfair.

"Um," Claude answers.

"Cute enough to kiss?" The redhead suggests, tilting his head at a very foxlike angle.

Claude blinks at him, and then laughs, feeling as if he's suddenly found his footing. Something tickles fiercely in his chest, and he doesn't back down. " _Maybe_ after dinner and a couple drinks."

He takes a step closer, and Sylvain meets him halfway. "Hmm. How about the dining hall? Don't think we'll find drinks there, but I'm not feeling much for going out tonight."

"Perfect," Claude says, smile pushing insistently at the corners of his mouth. Sylvain smiles back, crooked and charming. There's a moment of quiet between them, awkward yet strangely comfortable. Claude takes a breath.

"...Welcome back, Sylvain Jose Gautier."

Sylvain reaches over and tugs gently on his braid.

"Good to see you too, Claude von Riegan."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> actually they do go back to byleth's office first and sylvain does get banned from going into town for like the rest of the semester.
> 
> thanks again for reading!! i hope you'll forgive the extremely liberal use of game mechanics and monastery layout, but i figured if you're already reading a story about sylvain getting turned into a fox, it's all good...
> 
> the end. c:


End file.
